Thanks For Not Asking If I'm Okay
by Sub-Zero MKA
Summary: Triplett makes the tough call, and May mourns in silence. Major character death. All characters credited to Marvel Studios.


_**A/N: **__Yes, I'm still alive. I just haven't been able to put my ideas down on paper. I think the recent episodes have just sapped my creative juices dry; but I think I'm ready to get back at it. Enjoy!_

_**Thanks For Not Asking If I'm Okay**_

_**-BANG-**_

A single nine millimeter bullet, fired from the gun of Agent Antoine Triplett, glided through the air and pierced Ward's forehead neatly, exploding through the back of his skull and ricocheting off the metal wall of the hex room before pinging softly on the floor. Ward's head snapped back like a crash test dummy, red blood and gray matter splattering and painting the walls behind him like a gruesome piece of modern art. Blood poured forth from the wound, trickling down his face and dripped down from his chin to his black shirt. His eyes were still open, staring blankly into the black nothingness that accompanied death.

Triplett watched his body jostle for a spell before settling in its chair without remorse, without guilt and without empathy. He was just another mark, another target needing to be taken out; and he did, with the same exceptional excellence that he had become known for.

Without another thought or glance at the body, he walked out. Coulson and his team were standing right outside the door. Their faces ranged from devastated to apathetic.

Coulson looked tired, was tired. His voice sounded strained with mental and physical weariness. "New York."

Triplett nodded, "Ten minutes," and strode to the cockpit. He didn't know what was in New York, or who, but he wasn't going to ask questions right then.

He wasn't alone.

Agent May strode quickly passed him, saying nothing and looking as if nothing had happened. As if a member of her team hadn't just been executed before her eyes. He briefly wondered if she had seen such a scene before, in times long passed. Probably so; she had had a long, illustrious career, filled with highs and lows that kept her up at night, regardless. The life and work of a SHIELD agent wasn't one of fairy tales. It wasn't pretty, nor did it have happy endings.

Ward was beyond help. He was beyond redemption and beyond forgiveness. He had killed too many of their brothers in arms, including Victoria Hand, whom he had a great deal of respect for. To kill a fellow SHIELD agent in cold blood was the ultimate sin. To hand weapons of mass destruction to a terrorist organization, especially one like Hydra, was a slightly lesser, but still grave, sin. Neither could have been forgiven.

He needed to be cancelled. That was exactly what happened.

Triplett knew that May knew all of that. He knew that she was known for her ability to compartmentalize. He knew that people like her, stained and broken by the past, bottled things up inside, placed it in its proper compartment, and then moved on with life. It was how they were trained at Ops. It was how people like them, who straddled the razor thin line between SHIELD specialist and sociopathic serial killer, got by.

The others, one being a hackivist who was more idealist that anything and two that were graduates of SciTech, didn't.

It was going to be a long day.

Triplett silently followed May inside the cockpit. She quietly slid into the pilot's chair, he the co-pilot. Together, they sat, neither saying anything nor expecting anything to be said. Right then wasn't the time for conversation. It was the time for mental preparation for the next mission. Time to forget about Ward and move on to the next thing that needed to be handled; namely, Garrett and whoever the Clairvoyant was.

The moment his bullet lanced through Ward's forehead was the moment Triplett began that process. It was painful; Ward was a friend.

May sighed and reached for her aviators. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw glistening wetness in the corner of hers. He looked at his hands. They were trembling slightly.

Painful.

Skye stepped inside, breathing hitched and nose sniffling. He felt his jaw tighten. He really didn't want to deal with this. Thankfully, he was new, so he didn't have to.

"I can't believe it," she said softly. "I trusted him. I cared about him. I… I…." She trailed off, but he knew where it was going. Stories about SOs and rookies falling for one another abounded around SHIELD like stories about how Fury got his eyepatch. He personally didn't have one, but he could understand the feeling.

"Are you okay, May? I know that you and Ward had a-a thing."

Well, that was news. He didn't peg Ward as being her type. Then again, he figured that May's type was whatever the hell she wanted it to be.

His eyes cut to her, looking for a reaction. Nothing.

May said nothing.

He could hear the frown in her response. "Melinda… I know you do the whole tough girl act, and you pull it off well, but… it's okay to let it drop once in a while. I mean, if there's a time to, it's now."

Again, May said nothing.

Skye scoffed and let her shoes scuff against the carpet of the cockpit. "Whatever, May." The door closed, allowing silence to refill the cabin.

They were lovers. He briefly wondered if her silence was a precaution against the scornful, hateful words that were begging to be loosed upon him. This was May. She didn't do scornful; she did painful. As in, inflicting pain. He cracked his neck. If she wanted or needed to beat on him to work out her anger, so be it. He knew he stood no chance against her, but he wasn't going to back down. He owed her that much.

The door opened again, and then closed. A soft, hitching sigh that he recognized as Simmons breezed softly. Again, he didn't want to deal with this. Again, he didn't have to. "Agent Triplett," she said in her most clipped, professional voice that she could manage, "thank you for doing what none of us would have been able to."

He nodded, but said nothing.

Her voice softened distinctly. "May, I-I just wanted to ask if you're alright. This is a rough way for us. It just feels like a big bandage has been ripped off. It… it hurts." She whimpered softly, cutting off anything else she was planning to say.

May didn't say a word.

"May?" she barely managed. She whimpered more loudly before turning to leave.

Again, Triplett allowed his eyes to cut toward May. If she knew that Simmons was there, it didn't look like it. He didn't know what was going on in her head, but he had am idea. Her face was blank, passive, almost apathetic. She was compartmentalizing. It was a painful process. He knew.

He knew all too well because he was doing to the same thing. Emotions compromised even the best agents. Leaving them in their proper place was the only way for them to do their jobs effectively without wanting to kill themselves. Even then, sometimes it didn't work.

The door swung open a touch, allowing Fitz to squeeze inside. Several moments passed by. He could hear him muttering to himself before speaking up. "If-if ye need t' talk, May, I'll listen," he said hurriedly. "Or-or if ye don't want t' talk, I'll… I'll listen t' that. If-if ye… want to."

She didn't respond.

"Okay."

Was this something they did? Coming in one by one to make sure that someone was okay? If it was, May appeared to pay it no mind. Her expression hadn't changed since they stepped inside nearly seven minutes ago.

She was devoid of desire to express her emotions. This, he knew. This, he appreciated. For people like them, they were a hindrance, a burden. Better left somewhere deep inside than on their sleeve. Maybe that was what made Skye so special to Coulson. She was different because she wore her heart on her sleeve, while the rest of them bottled them up and stuffed them somewhere deep down inside.

Maybe that was why Coulson cared for her so much.

May sighed and touched a switch. The engines hummed and came to life.

The door opened and closed. "May," a harsh sigh breezed out of her, "the others are telling me that you're not talking to them. I know this difficult this is for you, so I won't pressure you. Just know that I want to put the past in the past and just… start over. Now isn't the time for small things to bring us apart."

May didn't say anything, or even react to what he said.

"Melinda," he still sounded weary, "please, just say something. Anything. Just let me know that you're still with us."

Nothing.

Triplett swallowed, but didn't look at her. He knew what this was, and he knew that Coulson did as well. Which was why he didn't do what the other three did. Because that was the last thing someone who was mourning quietly wanted, needed, to hear.

Coulson sighed. "I'm sorry it had to turn out like this. I really am." His footsteps were almost inaudible as he exited just as quietly as he entered.

The engines, warm and ready, hummed softly in the background. They proved to be the only readily audible source of noise in the cabin. May flipped a switch, switching control of the Bus over to the co-pilot.

Shit.

Triplett sighed and took hold of the steering column, and then flipped the appropriate switches and pressed the appropriate buttons. "Brace for takeoff," he spoke into the intercom.

A pair of aviators were sitting in an open compartment. He reached for them, as it was a pretty sunny day. A severely harsh sigh from May made him pull his hand back as if he had been reaching for a cobra.

Those were _his_, weren't they? He didn't need to ask, because she had already told him in her own wordless language.

The takeoff jostled the Bus slightly before smoothing out once in the air. He had found another pair of glasses in another compartment, ones that didn't belong to the despised departed.

The skies were clear and blue; smooth flying during the six hour flight to New York. He had heard that Coulson would have served as handler for the Avengers, had he not been killed. Stark was in New York; maybe a collaboration with him? Not surprising, if so. Stark was good at what he did, if not a major headache. His particular set of skills would be needed if they were going to track down Garrett and his team.

Triplett and May sat in silence for nearly four hours. Neither one speaking, nor expecting to be spoken to. It wasn't awkward or tense, but strangely calming. They both had a lot on their minds, and talking would have muddled things up to the point that they wouldn't have been able to straighten it all out.

May's expression hadn't changed since he canceled Ward. Her eyes, he assumed, hadn't left left the sky since they walked inside the cockpit. He briefly wondered just how she could stay so still and quiet for so long. And he wondered just how long she would have to compartmentalize before she was ready to speak up.

"Do you know," she finally said, "what it feels like to care about someone more than you want to admit even to yourself, only to realize that every word they've said, everything they've done with you, was a lie?"

When she spoke, he didn't jump, but he was still surprised. Her words immediately brought Garrett to his mind. That bastard was a brother to him. Hell, a father. And still, he smiled in his face and stabbed him in the back. Everything else was just him twisting the knife over and over until nothing was left. "Yeah."

"Then, you know exactly why I haven't said a word until now."

She was mourning in silence. She sounded exactly the same as she always did, not to high or low, but right dead in the middle. "Yeah."

"Thank you for not asking if I'm okay." She didn't smile, but he could detect the faint traces of gratitude in her voice.

He just nodded once.

It was the last thing she needed to hear. She and Ward were lovers at some point. She still had feelings for him, that much was clear. His betrayal, and execution, eliminated neatly any and all chance that they would ever be acted upon. Unrequited love of this kind was the worst.

A small ping of guilt resonated in his chest for the briefest of moments. It passed as quickly as it appeared. Guilt hindered him from making the tough calls that they both knew needed making.

He knew that she appreciated that he made the call so she wouldn't have had to.

"Wanna fly?" he asked after another ten minutes of silence.

"No," she said quietly. "I want to die."

His eyes closed.

He didn't ask if she was okay because he knew that she wasn't.


End file.
